


Eenie meenie weenie whoa

by MilkyBabyBunny



Category: It - All Media Types
Genre: Dubious Consent, First Time, Hand Jobs, M/M, Public Hand Jobs, Stranger Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-12
Updated: 2020-01-12
Packaged: 2021-02-26 06:46:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,194
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22232194
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MilkyBabyBunny/pseuds/MilkyBabyBunny
Summary: Prompt from Derry Kink Meme: Ben is given a handjob under the table at the library. Bonus points if it’s from a stranger who didn’t ask first (if it’s one of the Losers then it’s before they knew each other).Trigger Warning:This is underage fic. Like. For real. So don't come clicking on this fic and then crying about it. It'll fall on deaf ears, my friend. Live a happy life!
Relationships: Ben Hanscom/OMC
Comments: 6
Kudos: 15





	Eenie meenie weenie whoa

**Author's Note:**

> [I _am_ sorry about the title though.] Very possible I'll pussy-out and delete this. So shun me now if you're gonna. But I hope you don't :3
> 
> Sorry if this is like hideously boring. I hate OCs, myself, so idek. But lbr this could've been Penny.

The chair beside him whines as it's moved back from the table, makes Ben jump, just slightly, focus being pulled out from the texts of his book. He swallows, harsh, and then narrows his eyes, trying to resume the flow of his reading, from before.

It's weird. Of all the seats anyone could've picked to sit in, it's weird that someone chose the one right next to him. Ben doesn't suppose he looks particularly sociable. No one has ever regarded him as such. And he's got his nose two inches away from the dusty old paper of this book, clearly busy, even if he _did_ look like someone nice to chat with.

And Ben's not really against the idea of someone wanting to talk to him, not really. He's actually pretty lonesome. Obviously. Considering... But he's been coming here everyday and so far the only person who hasn't treated him like a total ghost is Mrs. Starret. And it's not her powdery perfume that's accompanying the body of warmth settled next to him.

It's just... strange. Unexpected.

Which is why he's trying to pretend nothing's out of the ordinary at all. Like it might just go away, and things'll be normal again in a moment.

Why his shoulders go stiff when he senses an arm go across the back of his chair. Then an elbow comes into his peripheral vision, laid out on the resin of the library table, and Ben can tell that their head is lilted over onto their fist. And Ben can perfectly imagine the type of grin that accompanies the higher-pitched, yet subtly gruff voice that finally says, "Seen you in here often 'nough I started to ask myself if Derry got a Junior Librarian."

Sounds friendly enough. But in that way where Ben is reminded of those men who used to hit on his mother before they moved.

The ones whose eyes would meet Ben, just momentarily, decide he didn't matter so long as they only stayed with his mother for a single night, and then lean in nice and close to her and say, 'You've got a fine son. I bet he's very well-behaved. Wouldn't mind reading a book for an hour or two in his room while you and I watch a movie?' Only it never sounded like just any ol' movie they were watching. And his mother would spend the next week waiting for a phone call that never came.

His mother's not here right now though, so that makes the tone of voice even more suspicious, in his opinion. Ben well and truly has nothing to offer, unless someone's lookin' to unbox a mystery or two. And he decides, well maybe that's just what this is. Someone being as bored and as lonely as himself. And his mother taught him nothing if not to have manners.

With a flickering smile, Ben looks up from his book, trying to hide away his doubts. "Yeah... I like it here. It's quiet, and... safe."

Yeah, safe... that's what he liked most about libraries. Nothing bad ever happened in a library. Sure, maybe a flood, or somethin' like that. But not between people. You just didn't hear about brawls over books, or people hangin' themselves from library rafters. Or bullies killin' kids in the Sci-Fi aisle.

"Aw..." the man says, patronizing, but maybe just a little genuinely adoring, "You don't feel safe outsidea here? Cute kid like yourself must have lotsa friends to watch out for ya."

"Oh," Ben breathes, and he feels kinda silly for blushing and smiling. There might be a trick to it... but adults are usually nicer to him than kids, and maybe... it feels kinda like the guy might mean it. That he really thinks Ben could be some normal, happy kinda kid. He can't help the smile as he humbly says, "No... Not really. I - I'm kinda new." He tells the stranger what he tells himself, cause Ben tries to remain positive at all times, cause otherwise there's really no point. It's cause he's new, and nothing else, that he's still not got any friends.

"No? Well I'll be darned..." is the response he gets. The man's hands meeting in a fold over the table as he shakes his head, and flexes his fingers, forlorn on Ben's behalf.

Ben smiles still and gives a helpless shrug at the stranger's apparent dismay. Then his breath catches as it's tacked on, along with a hand coming down to pat his thigh, "We've gotta remedy that... Don't you think? Sweet kid like you - why, it'd be my honor if you'd call me friend." And the hand doesn't leave. Just kinda kneads in through Ben's jeans.

"Ah, I -" Ben starts, frozen, and reeling. He immediately begins to tell himself that it's fine. Innocent affection. It's fine, it's fine. He's just not used to folks being so nice to him is all.

The hand moves up further, and Ben's leg starts to jitter under the table, his body instinctively hunching toward the wooden mass, like it can shield him. But the hand's already there, and he's just trapping it underneath...

"What'd you say your name was?"

Ben didn't. And there's a glisten in this guy's eyes, and Ben thinks he ought to just say it. "B - I'm Ben."

"Pleasure to meet you, Ben. You can call me Alfie."

"Oh - okay. Sure. Well, thanks but I -"

"Ben... Can I tell you something?" Alfie asks, scooting closer along his chair so that his legs are fully bracketing one of Ben's two escape routes, while his other hand wraps firmly around Ben's wrist, where his pudgy little fingers are still intertwined with the old book pages.

Ben furrows, and swallows hard. Can't really make himself speak. In fact, the only sound he can get out at all, is a muted little squeak when he he feels the hand slink down between his legs, squeezin' around him. Fingertips gently finding the edges of his balls through his pants, and the butt of the palm pressing his cock up so's he can rub it up and down just like that.

"The secret to life, Benny Boy, is you gotta take care o' your friends. Cause without them, what's the point? And since you don't really got anybody else to take care o' ya, I'm just gonna do my duty, and earn my happiness. That okay with you?" He asks it... Asks it sounding nice again. Even nicer than before. Not sounding so fake as he did at first. But now, more than ever, Ben is sure he doesn't have a choice. He bites into his lip, eyes swerving away from the smirk on Alfie's face, and nods just barely.

"Now you go on ahead and keep reading there, Ben. Don't let your ol' pal Alfie stop ya. 'm just gonna give you a big, nice welcome to town. Show you where Derry's hospitality lies."

There's confusion in Ben. He knows that this isn't okay. There's an appropriate amount of fear-related sweat on his palms, and in the folds of his chest, and down along his spine. But he's also finding this voice, the one echoing through the blood rush in his ears, handsome. It's like one of those old Westerns he watches sometimes, with the reluctant sheriff and his whiskey addiction. The way he talks to the ladies at the saloon, the ones whose breasts are pushed all together and almost out the front of their dresses, and flash their petticoats, and - Ben's dick is getting thicker in his pants. A little flutter, torso-long, like the one he gets when he sometimes stares at Beverly Marsh in class without meaning to. Sparks him up inside and makes him feel like a different person. Someone who could be a little dangerous and not so soft around the edges.

"There it is, buddy," Alfie whispers, the whiskers around his mouth remind him of the unshaven sheriff, too. And the outlaws. Could be a crooked sheriff, maybe. That happens... Some movies. They're the ones who do good when it suits them, and bad when it doesn't. "I'm real proud o' ya champ..."

It's like he knows he shouldn't feel good... shouldn't let it get to him that way. But Ben's chest goes warm like when he eats his mom's vegetable beef stew. And some part of him is even _relieved_ when Alfie's hand pulls away, not permanently, but just enough to wrastle open the button and zipper of Ben's jeans.

"What - what're you readin' about, anyhow?"

He doesn't really understand why Alfie's breath is as huffy as Ben feels his own is. But he shakes his head and tries to remember so that he can answer. Keep his manners, still.

Hard to do when when Alfie's somewhat wrinkled, hairy hand wriggles into his y-fronts and the pad of a thumb is suddenly stroking over the spongey head of his cock, collecting up wet stuff Ben didn't even notice leakin' out of him until just now.

"Jus - Just Derry. Its history."

"Wanted to know what kinda place mom and dad dragged you to?" Alfie asks, something sounding sorry in his tone. Which is even more perplexing. Maybe he really _is_ a good guy. If he feels bad that Ben's ended up somewhere seemingly so dangerous as this little, unknown town in Maine.

Alfie drags his foreskin down over the crown, and back up, and it feels so damn good Ben has to choke back a sudden sob. Fingers clutching white to the edges of the book and the table.

A soft chuckle ghosts in front of Ben's face. "Hey... See? I'm a pretty good friend, dontcha think?" Alfie asks. Reading Ben easily. The way his hips are wanting to pivot up into the circle of Alfie's hand. The way his chest opened on a harsh hitch.

"My - my mom is just... It's just us," Ben gets out, when he's finished holding his breath, and has his cries under control, leg wrapping back around the chair because he wants the hand further down his dick and maybe, just maybe Alfie'll be able to reach better that way.

There's a frown accompanying Alfie's next statement, but this time Ben truly cannot tell the real intent behind it. "Aw, gee kid... I'm sorry. My pop was outta the picture a longass time ago, too. That's another thing, innit? Friends over family. Chosen over blood. Don't you worry about dear ol' departed dad. Plenty o' other folks in the sea."

Every time Alfie's hand goes down, Ben's cock meets his warm tummy, and the cotton tee that his mother's fabric softener never quite makes as soft as the t.v. ads promise. The extra texture, so different from both sides, and the pressure of Alfie's calloused fingers around the back, and thumb around the front, down by the dip of his balls has Ben blushing bright pink, and starting to get nervous. Little tremors hitting his body that he has no control over. The world around him getting a little blurry around the edges.

But as always, no one's watching. No one's seeing. He doesn't exist.

Then again, that's what Ben thought before. But Alfie says otherwise... Has been seeing Ben every day. He's here everyday. Maybe he'd... Maybe he'd take care of Ben like this. Every day.

"I-" Ben says, very obviously strained, and maybe a little too abrupt. Too loud for Alfie's liking. Because Alfie grips the tip of his cock hard, then, and leans in real close, hushing Ben immediately. Then his thumbs rubbing hard circles over the nerves just below the head of Ben's erection, and Ben's shaking no matter how hard he tries to hold himself still.

"That's it, pretty boy... Just read yer book and let me -" Seconds after he starts jerking Ben off again, quicker and looser and better, Ben's nuts are going tight and he's throwing his head into the book, breathing heavy against it, chest pressed painfully into the edge of the table, as little droplets of his cum spittle out from his cock and onto the edge of Alfie's thumb. A drop or two falling to Ben's jeans. Though Ben won't notice until he's ashamedly pulling his clothes from his body, and setting them in the hamper when he gets home later. Alfie wrings him of it. Ben only _kind of_ knows what 'it' was. Has only felt the symptoms of it before, but never actually gotten all the way there before.

Alfie's next laugh, interrupting himself, is dark, and molten liquid. "My, my, my... Who'd have thought... Something so sweet, in our little town. Free, too." Ben's eyes are slow to drift with him, as he rolls his head across the book, and watches curiously as Alfie licks the clear-white from his fingers, that Ben can now see are cracked with dirt or motor oil. "Welcome to Derry, kid."

Ben's eyes fall closed. Just for a moment, just while he comes down. When he opens them again, his dick is limp and poking out from his underwear still, and Alfie is gone. Didn't even make a sound as he left.


End file.
